


Thunderstorm

by parapraxis



Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Male Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-05-07
Packaged: 2018-01-23 22:56:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1582442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parapraxis/pseuds/parapraxis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Storms tend to make Scott a little nervous and John a little randy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thunderstorm

**Author's Note:**

> For kaykaykenna. Sorry this took so long.
> 
> Also, the tense problem should be fixed...

_Pit. Pat. Pit-pit. Pat._ Fat raindrops slap into the window, signaling the oncoming storm just as a roll of thunder shakes the air, making the house tremble in its wake. Scott looks up from his drafting paper and peers out towards the bay just beyond the back fence. The clouds were darkening, growing thick to blot out the warm afternoon Welsh sun.

“I’m going to go grab the cushions off the sun chairs,” John’s voice in the doorway makes Scott swing his head around. John was gripping the door frame, leaning in through the opening, looking over Scott’s head out the window. “I guess the storm they predicted yesterday finally decided to make an appearance.”

Scott laughs softly and pushes his spectacles up the bridge of his nose a bit. “I’ll come help you.”

“You’re busy, I can get it.” John protests. “Besides, there’s no point in both of us getting wet.”

“I think I can sacrifice a few minutes to help put the cushions away. Besides,” he smirks, mocking John, “If I help, it’ll take less time and we can both avoid getting too wet.”

“Well, hurry up then. It’s coming down harder.”

Scott followed John out into the backyard where they both hurried barefoot around the deck to collect the cushions off the chairs by the pool. The rain was cool, and several drops landed right on the lenses of Scott’s specs, obscuring his vision. Just as he picked up the last cushion on his side, a flash of lightning forked across the rapidly darkening sky and the clouds opened up. John gave a near girlish shriek as the unexpected downpour began to drench him, and he hurried to carry his stack of pillows to the safety of the back porch awning. 

Picking his way back across the deck, Scott could feel the cotton of his shirt soaking up the rainwater like a sponge and sticking itself against his skin at the shoulders and chest. There was another flash of lightning followed by a deafening clap of thunder that made Scott’s heart skip a beat and the hair on his neck stand on end. He knew enough about storms to know that the air was charged with electricity and they needed to get inside as quickly as possible before one of them was struck by lightning.

“John, go back inside! I’ll be right there.” He calls, finally reaching the overhang of the awning. Rather than paying heed to his husband's words, though, John moves towards Scott and helps him put away the cushions.

“You’re drenched!” John laughes, ruffling Scott’s damp hair before pushing it back off his brow.

“Get inside, will you? The storm’s going to get really bad and we shouldn’t be standing out here.” Scott ushers John back through the door before pulling it to behind him and flipping the latch. “We should put out some candles, too. The way the lightning looks, it’ll be a miracle if we don’t lose power.”

“Think I should shut the computers off?” John asks, watching Scott wipe the lenses of his glasses on the only dry patch left on his shirt.

“Yeah, probably not a bad idea. You do the computers, I’ll get the candles.”

John put a hand against Scott’s chest, stopping him from taking more than a step. “You go put on dry clothes, I’ll get the candles after I shut off the computers.”

Grinning, Scott grips John’s waist and pulls him close. “We could go get dry together.”

John’s brow creases over the bridge of his nose, “Seriously? Scott, that’s the worst pickup line in history.” He leans in and rewards Scott with a quick kiss anyways, then pulls back. “Come on, I need to turn off the computers because if they get fried, I’m not buying you a new one.”

Watching as John retreats from the kitchen, Scott sighs quietly and turns to retrieve the grill lighter from one of the utensil drawers, setting it on the counter as a reminder to put it with the candles. Peeling off his wet shirt as he heads to the bedroom, Scott listens to the rain slamming into the roof. The thunder was at a near continuous roll overhear, oftentimes so intense that the entire foundation shook. 

Severe storms always put Scott a little on edge. It was the worrier in him; the part that always jumped to the worst case scenarios first. While tornadoes were a rare occurrence in the UK, they were still possible...as was damaging hail, high winds, floods…

Slipping out of his damp denims, Scott feels only mildly surprised when two hands slip around his waist and John’s lips find his shoulder. “Thought you told me to change clothes?”

“I changed my mind,” John nips his way to the other shoulder, pressing himself against Scott. “Looks like that pickup line worked on me after all.”

Scott chuckles ruefully, dropping his head to the side as John’s tongue travels up to his ear. “I don’t think it was the line.” He's always known John has an affinity for making love during storms. He found them inherently sexy, and since the cushions were stored and the computers were off, there weren’t any more concerns to distract him from the mood. “Did you put out the candles?”

“Fuck the candles.” John breathes, abruptly turning Scott around and crushing his mouth against his husband’s. Moaning in delight, Scott reaches between them to squeeze John through his jeans. John roughly pushes Scott back against the bed, making him topple over, and grabbing the waistband of Scott’s pants before tugging them off.

“Christ, John,” Scott says thickly, not accustomed to John being so aggressive, but wholly turned on by it.

A flash of a smile rewards him as darkened eyes meet his. John leans in, kissing Scott once again before he drops to his knees and pushes Scott’s legs apart, swallowing his swollen cock in one swift move.

Scott’s hands fly into John’s spiky black hair, fisting the short strands as he groans in satisfaction. The bedroom windows rattle in their frames as another boom of thunder sends an invisible shock wave through the air, but Scott pays no heed. John’s mouth easily accommodates Scott’s girth, his throat relaxing to take him all the way to the base, and the moan vibrates him in all the right places just before John swipes his tongue over the head on the up sweep.

If there was one thing John Barrowman did well--and God knew there was hardly anything he didn’t--it was sucking cock. Between the suction from his mouth and the squeeze from his hand, Scott could hardly ever last more than a few minutes like this. Normally John would tease him, drawing him to the edge several times before finally letting him cum, but today he was ruthless and relentless. 

“Bloody hell, John…” Scott grits his teeth and pushes John back by his shoulders, shuddering as he forces himself not to cum and cringing against the discomfort. 

“I wasn’t finished,” John declares, trying to fight his way back onto Scott’s cock. Scott puts a hand on John’s forehead to hold him at bay.

“I’m too close, I don’t want to cum yet.”

“We’ve got all the time in the world, Tottie; just because you cum once doesn’t mean you can’t cum again.” John nips Scott’s knee playfully, then begins to undress himself as he looks up at Scott with lust blown eyes. “Turn over.”

Swallowing hard with anticipation, Scott does as he's told. Laying on his stomach in the middle of their bed, he carefully tucks his cock up against his stomach, listening to the downpour outside as he closes his eyes and waits for John to join him on the bed. Warm hands slide up Scott’s calves and over the back of his thighs, kneading the flesh and--again--parting Scott’s legs to provide access. Scott can feel John getting comfortable behind him just before a tongue finds the seam of his balls and traces it to the sensitive patch of smooth skin between his balls and arse.

A groan escapes Scott once more and he opens his legs even wider in invitation for more. John squeezes the globes of his arse as his tongue runs along the crevice. Carefully spreading Scott, John’s eyes fix on Scott’s face--just barely visible down the line of his back--before teasing the puckered hole. The cry of pleasure is accompanied by a slight toss of sandy coloured hair, just as John expected, and he fights the smug grin as he continues to harass Scott. 

Traveling his tongue back and forth across Scott’s arsehole, John keeps the sensation purposefully light and noninvasive. He can feel Scott trying to push his hips back, attempting to impale himself on John’s tongue, but John holds him firmly in place. The struggle continues wordlessly for half a minute before Scott finally gives up and whimpers--just the sexually frustrated sound John was hoping to elicit. The grin returns to John’s lips and he plunges his tongue into the hole, making Scott cry out in pleasure.

Spearing his tongue into Scott repeatedly, John lets the storm outside be the catalyst to his desire. He wants to pound Scott as hard as the rain was pounding the earth, he wants their bodies to crash together like the thunder and lightning, and when they were through, he wants them to be as wet as the grass and as slick as the mud.

Biting one fleshy cheek, John smacks his ass and moves to lay on top of Scott. “I want to cum inside of you,” he breathes into Scott’s ear, rubbing his cock against Scott’s hole, but not entering him. “I want to fuck you until you scream my name, and then I want you to fuck me until we can’t walk.”

Scott's panting beneath John, hot and hard and ready for a gloriously rare day where they do nothing but fuck. It's been an agonizingly long time since they’ve had a marathon sex session--what with John’s schedule and being on different continents part of the time. It has also been months since John had last topped, again due to not seeing each other enough in recent weeks, and Scott feels a delicious pull in his abdomen as his lust intensifies. 

“Okay.” Scott breathes his answer.

“Mmmm...yeah?” John nuzzles his ear.

“Yeah.” 

Kissing Scott’s neck, John reaches towards the nightstand for the lube tucked away in the drawer, pressing himself against Scott’s ass to elicit another delightful moan, before sitting up on his knees to prep Scott and himself. Scott is practically writhing against the fingers John slides into him, a continuous stream of unintelligible utterances issuing from his mouth. When he finally manages to work three fingers in and no longer feels the clench of resistance, John knows Scott is ready. Coating himself with a thin layer of lubricant, he pulls Scott’s hips back until his husband is ass up on the bed, and enters him easily.

Groaning in unison at the physical connection, Scott fists the bed covers as John squeezes his hips. Pushing up onto his hands and knees, Scott rocks back against John, grinding himself on his lover’s cock before John moves his hand to the back of Scott’s neck and squeezes tightly in warning. “I’m fucking you, remember?”

Scott looks over his shoulder, his long lashes almost obscuring his eyes, but John can still see the playful twinkle. “Get on with it then.”

“Mouthy bottom,” John grumbles, pushing Scott’s head back around to face the headboard. Scott clenches his arse around John’s cock in retaliation, earning him a stinging swat.

The pace John sets starts out as slow, deep, even thrusts to fan the flames of their desire and tease their libidos, but it quickly escalates into hard, fast, rough, all-out, balls-deep fucking in a matter of minutes. Scott reaches back, gripping John’s thigh as he grunts and groans. John, in turn, grabs a fistful of Scott’s hair, pulling his head back as he slams into his husband repeatedly.

“John!” Scott pleads with a quavering voice, no longer able to hold back his impending orgasm.

“Cum for me, Scottie.”

Taking his own cock in his hand, Scott pumps into his hand as John continues to fuck him from behind. John can read him like an owner’s manual, and knows just when to press in against that sweet spot and grind to push Scott over the edge. With a gasping cry of pleasure, Scott spills into his own hand, trying to keep as much of it off the duvet as possible, but still feeling it drip from his hand as his body is wracked with waves of ecstasy. 

Picking up speed again, John closes his eyes, dropping his head back and focuses on the feel of Scott’s tight channel around his cock. He can feel the muscles quivering as they tighten and release in excited spasms, massaging him towards his own release. Once Scott has his own head again, John can feel him purposefully cinch the ring of muscles to make it impossible tight. Groaning, John holds Scott’s hips again, thrusting again and again until he’s on the edge. Pushing Scott’s chest against the bed, John plants a foot on the mattress and drives himself home into Scott, filling his lover with his seed.

Dizzy with the force of his orgasm, John holds himself up against Scott’s lower back, waiting for his vision to clear and head to stop spinning before he carefully withdraws himself and collapses next to his husband. They’re both panting from the exertion, limbs heavy and immovable. Scott’s clenching a fistful of cum against his chest and chuckling at how absurd they must look. John smiles sleepily, looking over at him and reading his mind, smoothing a hand over Scott’s ass.

“Still plan to keep going?” Scott asks, his voice muffled by the bed.

“As soon as we get our second wind.” John answers. 

Outside the storm seems to have slowed--the thunder coming less frequent and the rain tapering off to a lighter downpour. He feels his eyelids getting heavy and John’s already growing still beside him, breath evening out. Somewhere in the back of his mind Scott laments that they aren’t as young as they used to be, and don’t recover from orgasms quite as quickly as they did when they were in their 20s and could cum 10 times in an hour. He supposes, though, that it’s quality, not quantity, and the jello-y feel of his body from the waist down is proof enough for him that this was top quality. 

Gathering enough strength to reach up to his nightstand, Scott snags a couple of tissues and wipes his hands off, tossing them aside for later before snuggling up against John. A sleepy arm encircles him and he rests his head against John’s shoulder, letting the sound of the dying storm carry them off to sleep.


End file.
